


Love as Thick as Blood

by AgentJoanneMills



Category: Alphas, Fright Night 2, The Dresden Files (TV), Warehouse 13
Genre: Did I mention it's freeform?, F/F, Fandoms Collide, Fluff, Freeform, I just had to do this, Super Freeform, and wherein Nina is their daughter Christina, wherein H.G. is also Gerri, wherein Myka is also Bianca
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentJoanneMills/pseuds/AgentJoanneMills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What use are words for, anyway, if the smallest gestures speak volumes of what’s inside her non-existent soul?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother and Child

**Author's Note:**

> *All fandoms and related elements belong to their respective owners, which don't include me.  
> **I repeat: freeform. This does not necessarily conform to usual vampire lore.

 

“Why don’t you just talk to her?”

Gerri barely spares a glance at the intruder, and then returns her gaze to the Manhattan skyline, visible through the room’s floor-to-ceiling glass wall. She delicately takes a sip of the wine she has been swirling in its glass, lets her tongue bathe in the taste of the red liquid, and enjoys its gentle burn as she daintily swallows. After a moment, she says, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She hears an annoyed huff of breath, and within a second Gerri finds herself being not-so-gently gripped on her shoulders, forced to look into dark eyes very much like her own. She drawls, her British accent as pronounced as ever (and she really does prefer this accent more than the others), “Really, Christina, must you handle me like that?” She raises her glass mockingly. “Fortunately I have good reflexes, or this excellent wine would have been wasted on my carpet.”

“Mother,” says the woman, releasing her grip on Gerri with a soft shove, “Don’t call me that. I told you like a million times, it’s ‘Nina’ now.”

Gerri rolls her eyes as she walks to the low table in the center of the room, setting down her glass after draining it of its content. “‘Christina’ is a perfectly good name.”

“It is, but after a hundred years it kinda gets old. You must know, since ‘Gerri’ is what, your fourth, fifth, sixth, in as many decades?” Christina – _Nina_ – hikes a brow in challenge, and the sight reminds Gerri of another woman, someone from her past, and with those memories come phantom beatings of her non-functioning heart that should have stopped long ago. “And your attempts at changing the subject won’t work.”

“My sixth in the past 72 years, thank you.” Gerri shrugs unrepentantly, sits down on the couch with a grace only someone like _them_ could possess, and stares up at her daughter. “What do you want me to do?”

Nina runs a hand through her curly hair, expressing her exasperation with her mother’s stubbornness. At the gesture Gerri again feels stirrings of long-buried emotions, because Nina is not the only one who does that whenever exasperated with her.

“It is not a question of what I want you to do, because you and I both know the answer to that,” Nina replies, sitting down beside Gerri with equal grace. “It is a question of what _you_ want to do.”

“What I want to do,” Gerri begins, “is to board a plane to Romania early tomorrow and stay in my hometown for a couple of days. But since you have ripped my passport and ticket to shreds, I suppose that would be delayed for a while.”

Her daughter doesn’t even seem the least bit apologetic, knowing that Gerri could just very well acquire new ones in the blink of an eye. “I only ripped them because you were being _so_ stubborn. And ‘a couple of days?’ Really?” Nina scoffs. “The last time you said that phrase you’re gone for like, a decade. And I only heard from you every three weeks.” Her eyes turn accusing. “For all I knew you could have pulled that off again.”

“You do know that our species don’t really have a very good sense of time, no?”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean you get to run off like that. And you are so damn hard to track.”

“Language, Christina.”

“I’m not a child.” Nina rolls her eyes at the reprimand. She adds, though she knows it’d be ignored, “ _And_ it’s ‘Nina.’”

She’s right.

“You _are_ my child, no matter how many centuries pass.”

“See? You say that, but then you disappear on me all the time.”

“That’s hardly true. That’s an exaggeration and you know it. I always return to you soon enough. And you know I’d be there for you if there’s even the smallest hint of danger in the air.”

“I don’t want to be with you just during times of danger, Mother.” Nina’s eyes and voice turn soft. “I want things to be the way they were. Before everything.”

Gerri knows what she means by ‘before,’ and she feels so, so helpless, with her daughter looking at her with eyes filled with all the sadness she herself feels.

Nina murmurs, and Gerri aches for her all the more, “You can’t just always leave.”

And Gerri also knows that though Nina does not say it, she means that one particular instance when she left with hardly even a word, and was gone for a long time. A decade, Christina said. And that is a really long time; it seemed that way, at least for Christina. Her inner clock is not as old and rusty as Gerri’s, who’d been around for so _many_ years that a year sometimes feels like just a single minute.

“Darling,” Gerri placates for what feels like the thousandth time – they have had this conversation countless of times, in varying forms, some more aggressive and intense than the others, “you know why I did that.”

“You were heart-broken.”

Gerri winces at the blunt statement, but she could not bring herself to refute it. It was true, anyway. And no matter what she says to the contrary, it still is.

Even if she doesn’t actually have a proper heart right now, one that pumps and sends blood through her system. She hasn’t in a long, _long_ time.

And despite her extensive vocabulary she cannot find the right words to respond to the statement, for the right words don’t seem to exist at all, and so she just shrugs again.

What use are words for, anyway, if the smallest gestures speak volumes of what’s inside her non-existent soul?

 

****

 

Nina sighs at her mother’s silence. She recognizes the resignation in those eyes as dark as onyxes and she sees that look of self-loathing and hopelessness in their depths. She knows that her mother is lost in memories of times long past that she wishes she could take back, and Nina certainly shares the sentiment.

She wants her family in the way it used to be, herself and her mother and _that woman_ , the three of them _together_ , surrounded with love and laughter and endless wonder.

Her motivations might be selfish, because she honestly just wants to be happy again, but deep inside she knows that her mother needs it as much as she does. Maybe more so, because Gerri never looked the same way she did more than a hundred years ago. She had never looked as happy and content and satisfied as before.

Before _the_ woman left.

Because after that, well…

Gerri, no matter how adamantly she claims otherwise, has been drowning in sorrow. Sorrow for the actions she had taken, for the events that had come to pass.

Actions and events that had been, because she thought she lost Nina forever.

So yes, _maybe_ Nina feels guilty that she is the crux of their separation. _Maybe_ she feels responsible for the loss of her mother’s happiness. And _maybe_ she feels compelled to mend the woman’s damaged metaphorical heart.

She just wishes that Gerri would take some actions in mending it, too.

She stares at woman who’s been her anchor for as long as she can remember, and she knows there is longing in there, for someone so near and yet so out of reach. “You could fix it, you know.” Because Nina really believes that Gerri can.

But apparently Gerri does not. And she says so. “It’s too late for that.”

Nina shakes her head, exasperated and determined at the same time. “You’ve been alive for centuries, Mother. Surely you know that it’s never too late for anything.”

“What’s broken should just remain broken sometimes.”

“She wouldn’t want that. Not for you.”

Gerri smiles, but it does not reach her eyes. “I want that for myself.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“I deserve it, Christina.”

Nina reaches out and wraps her arms around her mother – her beautiful, intelligent, powerful but desolate, lonely, despondent mother – and murmurs, “You don’t.” Her voice is low as she calms, consoles, comforts. “You don’t,” she repeats, tightening her hold as Gerri melts into her, and she repeats it, over and over and over again, hoping for Gerri to believe it herself.

Because Gerri does not deserve a broken heart.

She never did.

She deserves happiness.

And so as she thinks that, with her mother in her arms, crying with tears that will never be shed, she silently vows.

Christina ( _Nina_ … whatever, she’s going to change it soon enough, anyway) will do everything in her power for Gerri to attain that.

_Everything_.

 


	2. Another Mother and the Same Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I started with the two of you, and to that state it shall return.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *All fandoms and related elements belong to their respective owners, which don't include me.

 

“I haven’t seen you in a long time. Much too long.”

Bianca calmly looks up from the book she is reading to see the source of the voice, and she sees a face framed by long curly hair like her own and a pair of familiar, soft, brown eyes staring straight into her green ones. Her lips upturn into a tender smile as a sense of happiness long forgotten blossoms in her chest.

“Nina Theroux,” she says warmly.

Nina tips her head casually, and hikes up a brow in a way so achingly similar to her own. “You know my current name.”

“Of course.” Bianca places a bookmark between the pages she was perusing, and sets the book on the table beside her. “I have been keeping tabs on you.”

“As I have been keeping tabs on you.” Nina nonchalantly walks to where Bianca is sitting and claims the couch directly opposite her. “Bianca St. Claire.”

Her eyes never leave that face. “I knew you’d come visit me here.”

“Am I too predictable?”

“All newborns are.”

Nina rolls her eyes, and Bianca is reminded of another woman. The memory makes her feel something she so desperately tries to forget, because pain from the realization that _the_ woman is somewhere in this world other than beside her at that moment is just too much to bear.

“I have not been a _newborn_ for 147 years,” Nina complains.

“Too short,” her smile becomes a smirk. “You’ll always be my little girl.”

Nina sneers, but it is playful. “I’m hardly _little_. I’m about as tall as you are right now,” she huffs, petulant.

“You still _are_ young,” Bianca chuckles, “and you’re certainly acting like it now.”

Nina grumbles something about being old enough to take care of herself, and she looks so much like the ill-tempered child she was a century and a half ago that Bianca’s chuckles turn into full-blown laughs.

“See? Who’s acting like a child now?” Nina says, but her eyes are glinting with mirth.

“I am sorry,” Bianca shakes her head, still laughing, “It’s just that you look so young just now.”

“Does that mean I look really old? That can’t be, since I still look the way I did in 1956, when we last saw each other, in case you’ve forgotten, and I haven’t aged another second since the 1890’s.”

At the mention of that time period Bianca immediately sobers up and averts her gaze, a fountain of suppressed emotions bubbling up to the surface.

And Nina looks stricken as she realizes her slip. “I’m sorry,” she says sincerely.

“No, I am,” Bianca blinks away tears that never formed. _And never will_. She lifts her eyes to meet Nina’s. “What are you doing here, really?”

Nina sighs. “Can’t I visit my own mother?”

“You already have one that is not me.”

“I started with the two of you, and to that state it shall return.”

“I have long ago relinquished any right I might have had over you,” she says, voice tight, and her damned soul is filled with agony at the words. Because yes, she left this child, and that is one of her greatest regret.

This lovely child, whose impossible conception was aided by a magical artifact in Warehouse 12, a top-secret government facility in London, one cold winter night.

It should have been impossible for a woman to conceive without a man, and it should have been equally impossible for a member of _their_ species to bear a child.

But Christina’s existence is the undeniable proof that it is possible to overcome those obstacles.

Her very birth was an extraordinary manifestation that all hurdles could be conquered.

She is the product of the merging of two ancient bloodlines.

A very unconventional product of a very unconventional merging.

 _My sweet child_. _Bone of my bone_ , _flesh of my flesh_ , _blood of my blood_.

 _And her bone_ , _her flesh_ , _her blood_ , _too_.

She is brought back from her thoughts when she hears, “A mother’s love can never be gone.”

Bianca hums in assent. Because it is true – her love for this child has never waned despite the time they spent apart, despite all those spaces between then through all the years.

She says, “I never said it was gone. I love you, Christina, I really do. All these years I have been watching over you, making sure that you’re alright. Surely you must know that – you’ve inherited my advanced senses.” She adds, “But the state that you want, the way it was? I’m afraid it can never be.”

“Why not?” Christina seems confused, and Bianca remembers that even if she looks like an adult human, her daughter is still very young.

“You know why.” She smiles sadly. “Your _other_ mother did too great a damage.”

“Call her by her name,” Nina shakes her head, frustrated. “Not just my ‘other mother.’”

“Gerri Dandridge.”

Her daughter rolls her eyes at her again. “Mom.”

She knows she cannot fight that whiny tone, and so she gives in, though her voice is hardly above a whisper. “Helena.”

Nina nods, a little satisfied. “She wishes to fix what has been broken.”

Bianca looks at her skeptically.

Nina rushes to explain, “She does, but she doesn’t believe she can. Nor does she believe she deserves a second chance.”

“Her, not believing in second chances? That’s new.”

“You damaged her a great bit too, when you left _us_.”

Bianca does not miss the bitter inflection Nina tries so hard to keep, and if she were still in possession of a breath, she’s sure it would have audibly hitched at that moment.

Her mind goes back to 1892, the year when her world turned upside down. She thought they had lost Christina, who was then 26 years of age. Old enough for humans to make their own way in the world, yes, but Christina was not human.

She was from the union of two female vampires, and she was born with a beating heart.

Bianca (who was then Myka Bering) and Helena (she knows she will always be _Helena_ to her, no matter what she says – her Helena G. Wells) watched over her as she grew up. From her birth in a balmy August evening, they had always been there, taking care of her, making sure that she’s healthy and well, even as she’s of age to work in Warehouse 12 herself, where all of the agents knew the nature of their unlikely family.

But then in 1892, while working on a case gone wrong, their dear child was shot, right through her heart.

Myka was so consumed with grief then, that she did not know how she managed to function at all.

But Helena was a whole different story.

Helena was filled with fury and such anger then that no one could stop her rampage – she hunted down every single one of those involved in Christina’s shooting, ripped out their hearts, and burned their corpses to the ground. She became so reckless, that those who tried to subdue her died in the process as well.

Including their friend and colleague, William Wolcott.

His death was the only thing that brought Helena back to sanity, if it could be called that. But it was too late, and by then Myka decided to leave.

She understands that killing is part of their nature, but _that_ was so senseless and so unlike the Helena that she loved through many centuries, and she knew she couldn’t stay.

Only later, after four years, did either of them learn that Christina was alive.

Well, not alive-alive, because her heart ceased to beat, but she’s _alive_.

“I really am sorry for leaving you, Christina.”

“But not of leaving her?” Nina scoffs. “Please. It is so very obvious that you regret it.”

“I never claimed otherwise,” Myka says. “But she knows she can never risk to lose herself like that ever again. No matter what.” She adds, in a voice so soft humans wouldn’t have picked it up, “And it’s not like I never gave her the chance to make things right. I am waiting for her. I always have been.”

Nina frowns. “But you said the way I want can never be again.”

“I did, because it’s true. Everything changed when we thought you died that time, Christina, which was why we parted ways. And everything changed again when we learned you’re alive.” She shrugs, a small movement of her graceful shoulders. “It’s just that we haven’t spent any time to make things work again since then. I don’t even know if she _wants_ things to work at all, because I’ve waited for 117 and I’ve heard nothing from her. Every time I happen on the same area that she’s in, she’d go somewhere else. Escaping. Not facing me. Not settling anything.

“And so here we are.”

Before Nina can begin formulating a response, a gust of wind and smoke blows through the room, and two distinct smells that weren’t there before fill the air.

Both Nina and Myka crouch down and assume defensive stances, but as the smoke slowly clears and they place the smells, they simultaneously straighten up, both rolling their eyes exasperatedly at the newcomer’s theatrics.

A deep-throated chuckle resounds, and an amused voice says, “You two really _are_ mother and daughter.

There, in the center of the room stands a grinning Pete Lattimer, and on his arms is an unconscious Helena Wells.

 


	3. Two Mothers and Their Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her voice is low, menacing; it is the voice of one whose mate is wronged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *All fandoms and related elements belong to their respective owners, which don't include me.

 

 

“Pete!” Myka yells when she sees Helena’s limp form. Her lips curl threateningly as her sharp fangs come out, and she growls, “What did you do to her?” Her voice is low, menacing; it is the voice of one whose mate is wronged.

No matter that Pete is Helena’s cousin, and therefore he won’t really harm her.

Probably.

It’s a bit hard to understand those two sometimes.

“Geez, chill, Mykes,” Pete laughs, not the least bit alarmed by the woman’s aggression. In fact his dark eyes actually seem pleased, crinkled on the corners with amusement, and with a jolt Myka realizes it’s because she’s being worked up over _Helena_.

And so she forces herself to relax and retract her fangs.

“Now that’s a good girl,” he says. He turns to the leather sofa and ever-so-gently lowers Helena on it.

Then he looks at her with those laughing eyes and holds out his hands, silently beseeching her to just lower her guard, because she’s still rigid and tense.

It takes her a couple more minutes to completely loosen up, reminding herself that Pete is older than her or even Helena, which makes him a very powerful ally and a very dangerous enemy – which really wouldn’t have made her calm down at all if not for the fact that Pete also is a very old friend.

 _Very_ old friend indeed.

“Why are you here? And why have you brought her?” She tries very hard not to snap at him.

Pete’s brows shoot up at her questions, and instead of giving an answer, he directs his gaze to Nina, who has been quietly standing on the side since he arrived. “You didn’t tell her?” he asks.

“I hadn’t the chance. You arrived earlier than expected,” Nina answers.

“I was on the dot!”

“You were off for like, a couple minutes more.”

“Huh,” Pete huffs, “I suppose Claudia’s clock is set in advance.”

“Your warlock lackey?” Nina snorts rudely, though Pete knows it’s just for show. Nina and Claudia are so much on each other’s throats that he _knows_ there’s fondness there. “I can’t believe you’re still using her.”

“Hey! I heard that!” A voice screeches from nowhere, only it isn’t from nowhere at all, because soon another gust of wind and smoke fills the room. And once it clears, they see a sprightly young woman with short red hair standing there with her hands on her hips. Her expression is less than pleased.

“My clock is never set in advance; it’s always exact, down to the last second,” she says indignantly, and she points a finger at Pete in obvious irritation. “But you! I told you to wait for my last _Latin_ word before jumping in the circle, but huh, when did you ever listen to your warlock anyway? Of course you had to jump in without me finishing the incantation! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? You both could have disintegrated and poofed into nothing!” She crosses her arms and glares impressively at Pete, and it isn’t clear if she’s done with her rant.

“How am I supposed to know when you’ve already spoken your last Latin word?” Pete protests. “You didn’t exactly have a sign or anything that says ‘that’s it’ or ‘wait, there’s more!’”

“We discussed it before performing it, didn’t we?” When Pete’s face does not show any indication that he remembers that discussion, Claudia drags a hand down her face. “Man, you’ve been alive since the 1400’s and you still haven’t learned how to listen when instructions are given.”

Pete rolls his eyes. “I was a prince, and following instructions was not part of my lessons.”

It appears that they are intent on continuing their bickering, and before that happens, Myka loudly and pointedly clears her throat to get their attention.

Her gaze first falls on Pete, then on Claudia, then on Nina, and back on Pete.

She looks at him meaningfully with an eyebrow raised.

Pete sighs. He recognizes that look as the one meaning ‘Give me answers right now or I swear I won’t stop nagging you.’ And Myka nagging is equivalent to her slitting his throat at every opportunity.

Knowing that _that_ scenario is one he’d like to avoid, he chooses to answer. “Your daughter here,” he waves a hand to Nina, “called for my help. And I’m not one to ignore a call from our family’s youngest member.” With that he unceremoniously plops down on a couch.

Myka turns to her daughter, who looks not the least bit abashed. “I wanted the two of you back,” she says simply.

Myka sighs. “And having Pete drag her here unconscious – and how did you do that anyway? – is the way to achieve that?”

Nina replies, “You have to talk, but she won’t have it. She’d never admit this, but she’s afraid of what might happen. Actually as soon as we heard you’re here in Manhattan she booked a flight to Romania, and I barely just stopped her. And I’m just so tired of her running away like that. So I figured a use of a more direct tactic to nudge her in the right direction just might do the trick.” She shrugs. “You have to settle this at all costs.”

She pleads with her eyes, and Myka is powerless against that stare, even if being Nina’s parent makes her insusceptible to her ability – the one where she can push others to do her own will. “Just try, mom. For me.” She smiles a little. “Face each other’s truths.”

“Listen to your kid, Mykes,” says Pete. “Helena’s self-imposed solitude is truly getting rather old. No pun intended.”

“I wanted to talk to her when she’s ready,” she tries.

“She’s been ready since your little girl went back from the grave,” he argues. “She’s just too stubborn to face it.” He scratches his chin. “Though I think our bloodline might have given her that particular trait.”

“It seems so,” she mutters.

Seeing that the three are all staring intently at her, she exhales in defeat. “Fine. We will talk. And we’ll see what happens.” She gestures to her love’s (yes, they might be former lovers, but the love they shared for close to five centuries now can’t just go away – and Myka knows that Helena would always be her love) still unconscious form. “Can you wake her up now?”

Pete smirks. “Oh, good, we’re doing it now. I’m looking forward to her reaction.” He motions to Claudia with the tilt of his head. The warlock warily asks, obviously aware of the dangers of waking up a vampire after rudely putting her to sleep in the first place, “Are you sure it’s going to be safe for me? I’m not indestructible like you.”

“Hmm,” Pete frowns thoughtfully, pursing his lips. “Yeah, I think it’d be better if you wake her from behind me.”

Nodding, Claudia moves to stand behind Pete’s couch, and stares at Helena's form from over his head. She concentrates as her lips move silently, reciting incantations that will take away the effects of her sleeping charm.

Then, “ _Excito sursum_.”

Myka, being a caster of spells herself, despite her being a vampire, understands the phrase.

After a second, Helena’s dark eyes open.

They watch as she inhales and recognizes their scents.

And in a flash she is standing, stiffly, refusing to look at Myka and Christina, and instead directs her glare at Pete. She lets the warlock be, knowing that the young redhead is just obeying her idiotic cousin’s orders.

“Vlad,” she says, incensed. “What did you think you were doing?”

He just tips his head, that infuriating grin in place. “Hey, looking good, Countess Elizabeth.”

“Don’t call me that,” she growls, “or I will impale you on your bloody famous stakes myself.”

“Oh,” he chuckles, of all things, and he stands up, “I’d certainly hold you to that challenge. I haven’t had a decent sparring partner since you’ve gone solo. That’s the reason I’ supported this cause after all. You’re so dreadfully boring without love in your life.”

His delight seems to grow as much as her annoyance does, and so she decides to not dignify him with an answer.

He claps a hand to his warlock’s shoulder, who yelps loudly. “Well,” he declares, “we’re off then. I wish you all the best in this family affair.” He winks at the three.

And with that Claudia twists off a ring from her finger and mutters a quick spell.

There is a flash of blinding light, and then they were gone.

The three women are left to stare at each other.

 

****

 

“Eww, gross,” Nina whines, quickly slapping a hand over her eyes. But even her fast reflexes are not enough to keep her from seeing the view.

The view being that of her two mothers, exchanging languid kisses on their balcony, against the backdrop of Manhattan’s nighttime skyline.

Both of them chuckle as their lips separate from each other’s, though only minutely, and their amused gazes land on the quite adolescent show their daughter is putting.

“Seriously, darling,” Helena says, shaking her head fondly, “you’ve seen a lot more than this. No need to be such a prude.”

“She’s right, Nina,” Myka adds. “Besides, though I rarely think about it, if ever, I hardly believe you are a virgin.” Helena releases a giggle against her neck, and she joins in as well.

“Oh crap,” Nina groans, still not looking at them, “did you really just say that out _loud_ , mom?”

“I did,” Myka confirms with a too earnest nod. “I have some catching up to do on the mothering department, and apparently that includes embarrassing you every chance I can get. Even if it is just among us three. It’s quite satisfying, actually.”

Nina abruptly turns on her heels, grumbling as she stalks away, “I can’t believe this! I spent all that effort on putting two puzzle pieces together, and this is the thanks I get? Unbelievable.”

 

The sound of both her mothers’ laughter drifts to her ears as she exits their unit, and she smiles.

She’d really have this family no other way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. There you go. A little family fic. :))
> 
> I don't really know when the idea cropped up, but suddenly I've been envisioning Nina Theroux as H.G. and Myka's biological daughter. Watch some Alphas (if you haven't already) and see the resemblance. It's there, I swear.
> 
> :))


End file.
